Wednesday, August 24, 2005

She said go deep

She said to “go deep”as she handed me a footballwhich I dropped thenwhile I wondered out loudhow and why these goal postswere erected in our storeto which she saidthat she refused totake her work homebut it was simply wonderfulto bring home life to the job.As usual, I shruggedand answered thephone in my bestlate nightbroadcastvoiceand found myselfspeaking toa woman who had a bookwith a yellow coverthat remindedher of the dress she woreseven decades agoon her first communion,in the spring,when flowers bloomedand relatives started sneezing.She paused andthen hung up the phone,and as I put my end downa kid from the neighborhoodwas at the counterasking me the priceof every book andpencil in sightin between segments fromhis gasping sagaof buying a tombstone for anuncle who once got funny with himin a closettwo holidays ago.the kid laughed nervously, fast,breathless, as I said,and ran out the dooronto the cracked, pricey sidewalk.My coworkerwas doing drum soloswith number 2 pencilsalong the glass shelvesthat displayed theheaviest books in the store,she smiled and riffed,pinged, rim shot herway out of a tightrhythmic problem,the phone rang again,she tells me toget that,but I get nothing at allexcept a headache,looking up from the counterafter I pick up the receiver,some middle aged guyin an MC 5 t-shirtholding a mounted moose headover the cash register,a long stretch of Bullwinklewaiting to be kissed,it’s all I can donot to look upfrom the small holesin the receiver,it’s still three hours till lunch.